


Fever

by SeashellWriter



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fever, Hiding, Jealousy, M/M, Mistaking identities, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeashellWriter/pseuds/SeashellWriter
Summary: Falling ill in an asylum filled with unstable patients is quite deadly, considering that you're vulnerable to anyone who crosses your path. Waylon comes down with a fever caused by the infected wound in his leg, and someone dangerous just so happens to find him, Eddie Gluskin. Weak and delirious, Waylon believes it's his wife, Lisa, who's found him instead.





	Fever

Waylon has never wanted everything to end so badly before. He's been chased down by a cannibal, had his 'delicate bits' almost mutilated, had been exposed to the engine, but these situations have never caused him to beg for death like this. Now, shivering under a table on the cold, grimy floor, Waylon fucking wishes that death would just take him out of his misery already. Who knew that jumping down an elevator shaft would cause him this much trouble, that one, single split-second decision. As if having a gaping, raw wound in his calf wasn't enough. Nope, it had to get infected, which led to this, a fever. So, Waylon did what any sane man would do in this situation, he curled up under the first table he saw, and hoped to god that no unstable variant found him. Shaky breaths escape him as he struggles to fall asleep, a piercing headache buzzing angrily behind his eye lids. 

He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, trying and failing to stay warm. As he begins finally dozing off, he hears faint footsteps along with cheerful whistling close by, making his pale blue eyes open. The footsteps get louder with each passing second, eventually stopping right where the sick man is. Waylon shuts his eyes, curling up even more into himself. Maybe if he stays still enough whoever it is will go away. 

_'Oh god. Please go away. Please go away._ '

A warm, calloused hand suddenly envelops his cheek, making his eyes snap open again. The touch is so gentle... It's as if his wife is touching him. Is that her? He can't see clearly enough through the dark.

"L... Lisa?" He slurs out quietly in disbelief, his voice rough from disuse and the fever, "Is... Is that you?"

It can't be her... Why would she be in this hell? 

God... He can't rationalize or think... It's too hard to. Is that her? It must be, no other patient would do this to him, caress his cheek lovingly like he's the only person in the world. How is it possible? How did she get here? Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter, this is her, he knows it's her. If he just squints hard enough through the dark, he can see her beautiful face, her wavy brown locks, her vibrant green eyes holding all the love in the world for him. Oh god, it's Lisa, his precious wife... It strikes his heart painfully.

"I... I've missed you so m-much, honey... I-I," Waylon sniffles before letting out a sob, sounding broken, "I... You don't know what I've been through..."

He's overcome with emotion. Tears streak down his face, and soon he's a crying mess, clutching onto her large hand in despair. She strokes him lovingly, her other hand coming up to pet his greasy, blonde hair before it slides down, under his back. He's soon hefted out from under the table and into his wife's lap, leaving him alarmed and speechless. Has he been losing a lot of weight, or has she been working out a lot?

Judging by how big her arms are, he can safely assume that it's the latter.

"Shhh, it's alright, darling. I'm here now," She whispers into his ear.

Why... Is her voice so... deep?

He shakes his head, it must be the fever. This is her. It _has_ to be her. Waylon wraps his arms around her, burying his face into her shoulder as he continues to sob emotionally.

"I... I love you... so much, hun..." He stutters out through his sobs as his chest clenches painfully, hiccups escaping him "I'm so sorry... I'm sorry I couldn't... C-Couldn't escape... I'm sorry...."

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," He continues whispering out, continuing to cry and sob into her shirt. 

“Hush, darling. I forgive you,” She softly murmurs into his hair, her large hands raking down his back in soothing strokes.

He continues clutching onto her weakly, greedily sucking up her warmth as he cries. His sobs eventually begin to tamper out, a wave of sleepiness hitting him. He’s so emotionally and physically drained. He's pulled away from her shoulder gently before chapped lips are pressed against his forehead in a tender kiss.

“You’re burning up,” Worry is laced in her tone, he can almost see her concerned frown.

“Fever… I have a… fever,” Waylon’s voice cracks, sounding much fainter than before. Small sniffles escape him as he struggles to stay conscious. 

Lisa begins shifting then, as if she's going to put him down, and for a terrifying moment he's afraid that she's going to leave him. Panic instantly seizes his heart, and he digs his nails into her... Dress shirt?

“N-No wait! Don’t leave! Please d-don’t go!” He cries out, his head swimming from his sudden, jerky movements.

As soon as the desperate plea leaves his mouth, he's being lifted up into the air, held bridal style.

“H-Huh?” She's stronger than he thought.

“Don’t worry, darling. I’d never abandon you,” She gently soothes at first, “Even if you have… _tried_ _leaving_ _me before_.”

Her words are suddenly harsh and bitter as her grip on him tightens, causing him to yelp out in surprise. What is she… talking about? He’s never left her, he's always been by her side, thick through thin. Is she talking about the contract he signed with Murkoff?

“But, I can see that you were only shy. After all, it’s obvious that so many idiots have treated you so... vulgarly. You aren’t the _slut_ I presumed you to be. No, you just need a little caring and nurturing, darling,” She rambles on, her grip on him loosening as she begins walking, “You’re lucky that I’m such a patient man.”

S-Slut? Wait… What? Patient man? What is she talking about?

"Lisa... What are you... Talking about?" He asks her just that, his brows furrowing in confusion. 

She stops abruptly then, all movement from her ceasing, and Waylon feels her body go rigid. The atmosphere is colder now and he struggles to not be afraid of his own wife.

"Who's Lisa?" The question is asked so threateningly that Waylon has to stop himself from flinching away.

"Y-You're... L-Lisa," He murmurs out shakily, and he almost lets out a hysterical laugh, "Come on, sweetie... S-Stop kidding around. Y-You're... Be-Beginning to scare me."

"Darling," The words are practically growled out, "I'm _not Lisa._ "

Waylon’s mind begins reeling, cogs turning despite his head’s pounding protests. The contradictions to Lisa's behavior and physical form begin firing at him rapidly. Since when did Lisa call him darling? Lisa doesn’t have calloused hands; her hands are soft and small. Her voice is light, not deep. She cannot lift up a 140-pound man, let alone carry one. Oh god… Waylon raises his head up to meet his wife's intense glare, his eyes squinting as her face comes in and out of focus. Her eyes- no that's not her eyes... They're a deep blue, the white of her- his eyes stained red. 

“Oh… god,” Waylon’s voice is barely above a whisper, horror twisting and knotting in his gut. It's as if someone has just socked him in his stomach.

This isn’t Lisa.

It never was.

His heart stops at the realization – this is The Groom.

He lets out a small, involuntary whimper, Eddie’s presence no longer welcoming or caring, but suffocating and dangerous. The arms around him suddenly feel like a cage.

Oh god- He needs to- To make up an excuse for his mistake right now! Fuck- Fuck!

He's suddenly thrown across the concrete floor, a loud thump echoing throughout the room as he cries out in agony. White spots dance across his vision, and he only lies there after the impact, his head spinning as he slowly rolls onto his stomach.

"Whore! You were sleeping around! And just when I was beginning to fall for your swinish charms!"

He needs to- To get up- To run!

All of these thoughts are squashed however when a heavy boot presses down onto his back, shoving him against the concrete floor. Pressure builds on his spine rapidly, letting him know that he only has a few seconds-

"W-Wait! I was mistaken about y-your name! I-I..." Waylon scrambles desperately for words, his excuse so very weak that he's unsure if it's even going to work, "I-I'm... Sorry... Y-You just never... told me y-your name, honey. I-I'd never cheat on you..."

Darkness begins rimming his vision and he blinks rapidly, desperately trying to stay conscious.

"I... The f-fever made me... The... Fe..." His eyes fall shut and he goes limp as darkness welcomes him in with open arms.

…

Waylon awakens to the sound of footsteps and to a constant rocking, up and down motion. He opens his eyes slowly, only to instantly shut them when a piercing headache shoots through his skull. He lets out a soft groan, raising a hand up to rub at his throbbing temple. It occurs to him after a moment that he's being carried. He only stays limp in the strong arms holding him, only moving when the walking ceases and he's being set down. Images of a circular saw and mutilated corpses flash before his eyes, and panic instantly squeezes his heart, kicking him into overdrive. He gasps, struggling weakly against the arms laying him down.

Fuck, he’s going to be butchered alive!

 

“N-No!” His voice comes out high pitched and hysterical.

“Relax,” The word is spoken in a surprisingly calm tone, but even while sick, Waylon doesn’t miss the warning bite it holds.

He stills, his breaths coming out in fast, small puffs as he shakes uncontrollably, half out of fear and half from the fever. Instead of the blood-soaked workbench he is expecting to be lied down onto, he is laid onto a lumpy, hospital bed. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus on his blurry surroundings. When Waylon attempts to sit up, a firm hand on his shoulder guides him back down, before caressing his cheek, instantly calming him. The touch… It reminds him of Lisa so much… 

"I'm so sorry, darling. I shouldn't have been so rough with you... You're in a fragile state after all," Eddie murmurs out softly as his other hand begins petting Waylon's sandy locks.

Waylon only closes his eyes to the soft touches, humming faintly in content. 

Eddie chuckle's above him, a deep rumble, before saying lowly "Oh, you minx~ Tempting me like this, even when you're unwell."

He knows that the words should scare him, but all he can do is focus on the light touches alleviating his headache. It's easy to imagine that it's Lisa's hands caressing him, assuring him that everything is going to be alright. He drifts off to the warm image of his wife and to a murderer's gentle touches.

 


End file.
